A Marvelous Invention
by skrewtkeeper
Summary: When a cold strikes, as we all know, we feel terrible. Well, what happens when Professor McGonagall gets a cold? AD/MM madness ensues!


_A/N:_ Hello out there... This came to me yesterday, so I personally don't like it very much, but perhaps all of you out there will! Please R & R! And, this is dedicated to beMMADFabulous in hopes that her cold will go away soon! xD

**A Marvelous Invention**

Minerva stiffened as she awoke that cold, crispy October morning. Most people would have complained that the sun was not shining, but she would not have. Minerva loved the rain that the clouds were promising to provide this dawn of a new day, almost as much as she loved teaching itself, but she could not enjoy it this morning. A sudden cold had taken hold of her health, and although it was really nothing to worry about, she could not say that she did not feel miserable.

A cold was a terrible Muggle ailment, and though she had made sure she had taken extra vitamin potions that month when she had witnessed this illness strike many of her students earlier that month, it had **all** been to no avail. How was it when she exerted all of her energies into preventing something, it always happened in the end? How was it that she had gotten a cold anyway? Was not she a stronger witch than that?

"_Apparently not,"_ Minerva thought bitterly to herself, as she felt for her dressing gown through her poor line of vision. Teaching was the last thing she felt like doing today, but there was no way that she could find a way to be relieved from this stress. Teaching for a whole day was certainly not going to make her feel better, so why should she waste the day in feeling worse? Should she not be getting rest and recharging her overly strained body instead of instructing young minds? That last thought got to her. She was here to instruct, not to complain, no matter how bitter her days became or no matter how lonely she felt at night when she felt that cold emptiness beside her. But no, she was a professor, and a mentor. _"Professors don't become ill,"_ she thought resentfully to herself. The burden of an instructor, of magic especially, was not a mantle to trifle with lightly. Every second in a classroom brought knowledge to those who had none, and the work that was required to make every second count was unbearable for some, but not for Minerva. Work was her distraction, her place away when she could not dance in the rain, as she could not now by her choice to become a professor. She must remain upright and vigilant for those students she liked to refer to as, "her children". They would not get anywhere without her help, so tiredly, spitefully, and irritably, Minerva got up from her bed, snatching her glasses from her bedside table as she did so. Today was _not_ going to be a good one.

About twenty minutes later, Minerva, despite her sudden set-on sickness, stepped out briskly from her room, sniffling slightly as a burst of air filled her stuffed nostrils. She moaned in self-pity, wondering when she would ever be herself again. It was then that she happened to glance at her watch. The numbers on the face of the tattered and beaten watch read 9:00. No, that _couldn't_ be right….

Minerva shook her watch, but nothing changed, except the seconds that ticked slowly by. The reason for her confusion suddenly crashed upon her, and she began sprinting down the corridors for one cause, and one cause only. She was late for the Breakfast Feast!

Onward she ran, not stopping for breath, or acknowledgement that her theory about the time was correct. Her lungs seared with pain, protesting for the already inadequate amount of oxygen that had not been enough _before_ she began running. Racing around a corner, she did not notice someone walking her way, and crashed into him or her. She spiraled to the floor in a curtsy-like fashion, trying her best to maintain her balance, but a leg stuck out in front of her, and she toppled to the floor again. Her glasses flew off her face, and the packaged remains of what looked to be a large number of chocolate frog boxes exploded everywhere.

"I'm so sorry," Minerva muttered awkwardly. It was only due to her luck that this happened. Face flushing, she shakily attempted getting to her feet, but found a hand pulling her up instead.

"It's alright Minerva," began a voice kindly. "I nearly trip over my own feet sometimes." Minerva saw a fuzzy outline to which this person could be, but without her glasses, she could not see a thing. Despite this fact, Minerva guessed by his voice and the look of fuzzy silver hair meant that it was none other than Albus Dumbledore!

"Oh good heavens, I'm so sorry Albus," she murmured, face flushing a deeper red. If only she could see his expression, than perhaps she would stop turning scarlet!

"Quite all right Minerva, quite all right," replied Dumbledore reassuringly. "Ah! I believe these are yours," he held out what looked to be a pair of glasses from his hand, and Minerva took them gratefully. What she saw was a greater mess than she had anticipated. It was evident that Albus was trying to bring his sweets up to his office when she had crashed into him so carelessly. Why did these things always happen to _her_?

After a moment or two, Albus bent down to retrieve all of his missing sweets. Minerva bent down also, sniffling again. Albus looked up, suddenly concerned that Minerva was crying, but only found Minerva looking miserable. He cringed as he realized how inconsiderate he had been by not offering her the only thing helpful for this situation.

"Kleenex, Minerva?" he asked when they both stood up.

"Y-What?" inquired Minerva confusedly, her eyebrows shooting together in fierce inquiry.

Albus smiled. "Well, they are in fact a Muggle invention, but I seem to carry them around with me everywhere. If I am not mistaken, I think they take the place of handkerchiefs, which is brilliant in my opinion. I hate using handkerchiefs to blow my nose in, but these, once you are through with them, you simply _throw them away_and never worry about them again!" he exclaimed, beaming at Minerva while handing her a cloth-like handkerchief that looked as thin as parchment. Minerva took one uncertainly, not knowing what Muggles may have done to that piece of cloth she now held in her hand.

"Well, go on Minerva, make good use of it!" exclaimed Albus, grinning from ear-to-ear at Minerva's "predicament".

Minerva held the piece of fiber-cloth to her nose and blew it. It felt much better to blow her nose on this thing than it did to blow on her handkerchief, that was for certain, but it was also gentler in a way.

"Albus, what do call this again?" she asked, now smiling in the face of her cold that already felt much milder.

"Why, it is a Kleenex, my dear," replied Dumbledore, quite joyful now that Minerva felt better.

"Thank you Albus," said Minerva softly. Dumbledore blushed, and was reluctant to meet her gaze, but when he did, Minerva spoke again. "What ever made you think of offering this to me anyway?"

Albus grinned, but instead of telling her, offered her his hand. "I believe the 'box' will have to tell you that," he said softly, as he made his articles of interest disappear with one, sweeping, wave of his wand.

Minerva grinned as she accepted his hand, and laughing, "Box? What box?"

"Oh, you'll just have to see," muttered Dumbledore mysteriously.

Something held McGonagall back for a moment, and she let go of Dumbledore's grip. "But, the feast, aren't we missing it?" she asked.

"Minerva my dear, it is seven o'clock exactly. What time did you think it was?" Dumbledore answered.

"Oh, balderdash. I thought it was nine," muttered McGonagall to herself, shaking her head.

Dumbledore smiled again, but brightly. "Ah, I see why you were dashing then," he said kindly.

"Yes, sorry…" apologized McGonagall quietly for the third time. At least she did not turn red during this instance.

"Think nothing of it Minerva," said Dumbledore, waving his hand courteously as though trying to shake off her apologies. "I believe we have an appointment with that box, so would you follow me please?"

Minerva took his hand without hesitation this time, and they strode off together into Dumbledore's office. They entered simultaneously, then found that they both together just could not _quite_fit, laughed, and Dumbledore bowed Minerva inside the door that lay just beyond the spiraling staircase. Minerva curtsied back, and made her way into his office, the biggest grin fixed on her face.

"Well, where is this obviously All-Knowing, Impressive-To-All box, Albus?" she asked playfully as her eyes searched every corner of his office. Not one object seemed to be an ordinary Muggle invention.

"Right here my dear," replied Albus from behind her, and holding up a box that very clearly read "Kleenex" on the front.

Minerva's grin grew wider and wider as she read the inscription. "A nose in need deserves Puffs indeed," she read.

Dumbledore nodded wisely. "Yes, quite right if I do say so myself. A marvelous invention is it not?"

"Yes, _very_…." she replied, wondering why on Earth she hadn't noticed that Dumbledore's simple ways meant so much to her. Maybe she should get sick **more** often! Maybe, just maybe she **would. **

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kleenex, nor do I own Dumbledore & McGonagall... I would, however,very much like to, and if I did, I would have made them _together_ back in book one... :D


End file.
